r^e Iqvalid Singer 






Minnie D. Bateham. 



THE INVALID SINGER 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 



OF 

V 

MINNIE D. BATEHAM 



EDITED 

BY HER MOTHER 

MRS. J. C. BATEHAM 



® 



BOSTON 

JAMES H. EARLE, Publisher 

i 78 Washington Street 

1895 



8EC0ND COPY. 






51326 



Copyright, 1894. 

BY JAMES H. EARLE. 

All rights reserved. 




WOCOPitSfitCtjyffc 



CONTENTS. 

Introduction 



PART I.— THE SINGER. 

I. Parentage and Childhood . . 9 

II. Ministry of Suffering .... 17 

III. Convalescence and Flames . . 24 

IV. Writing Under Difficulties . . 26 
V. Sister Louise 30 

VI. Training for Service . . . . 33 

VII. Prayer Cure and the Crusade. 37 

VIII. Letters 42 

IX. Her Later Years 49 

X. The Transition 57 

PART II.— SONGS. 

Praise Waiteth for Thee 71 

Crumbs 73 

Flower Lessons 76 

The Message -77 

Baby Brother 79 

Birdie 80 

The Twin Oaks " ... 82 

The Legend of Innisfallen .... 85* 



CONTENTS. 



The Life Building 89 

Undertones 90 

A Foretaste 92 

Temperance Marseillaise 93 

Our Star-spangled Banner 95 

Where Violets Grow 97 

Children's Snow-fancies 98 

Beheaded Rhymes 100 

Take Hold of My Hand 102 

How It Comes 102 

The New Year's Gifts 105 

Golden-wedding Greeting 107 

Lifted Up .108 

Jesus, Our Strength no 

The Soul's Supremacy in 

A June Blossom 112 

Beyond JI 4 

A Christmas Carol 116 

On A Silver Clock 117 

The Soldiers' Graves .118 

Sabbath Evening 119 

The Grace of Receiving 120 

His Dwelling-place 121 

Going to Rome 122 



INTRODUCTION. 



O 



NE of the sweetest songsters of the morn- 



ing, Minnie D. Bateham, was promoted 
to the heavenly choir, October 30, 1885. 

Cradled in the sunshine of a happy home, 
and the centre of many loving hearts, she folded 
her wings under the touch of the angel of suf- 
fering when but twelve years old, and for weary 
months and years bore such intense pain that 
it was a marvel the frail body endured. 

These bright carols were, many of them, 
written under this stress, and show the marvel- 
lous triumph of the soul over the body. 

Never again was Minnie to be wholly free 
from her chains, yet she became a fine student 
and an earnest worker for Christ, as well as a 
true poet of the heart, and her great luminous 
eyes and bright face always bore a message of 
faith and love, till in early womanhood the cage 



INTRODUCTION 



was opened, and the freed spirit entered the 
larger life for which it had been in training. 

From that day it has been the cherished 
design of her mother to share with others the 
rich legacy of so brave and fruitful a life, yet 
ten years' absorption in the arduous work given 
her by the National Women's Christian Tem- 
perance Union has heretofore left no room for 
this work of love. 

Minnie was not an angel, as will be seen; 
she was very human, but she was a temple of 
the Holy Spirit, and to-day we re-light her taper 
and set it on a candlestick, believing its steady 
light will be stimulating to many young people, 
and to the Christian Endeavorers, to whom 
the book is dedicated by the author. 

MRS. J. C. BATEHAM. 

Williamsburg, Ky., 1894. 



® ® ® 



s> part first. ® ® ® 



The 5inqer. 



u And shall not God's dear children 
Well know, that life's best gain 
Must be wrought out through weary days 
Of patient grief and pain ? " 



THE INVALID SINGER 



M 



CHAPTER I. 

PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 

R. B. BATEHAM, Minnie's father, was 
born in Kent County, England, where his 
father was an uncompromising Methodist and 
a sturdy leader of that denomination in Maid- 
stone, when it involved persecution for prin- 
ciple. The family early removed to Rochester, 
N. Y., where her father received his education 
and went into business, removing later to 
Columbus, Ohio. He was an eminent horti- 
culturist and writer, known and honored every- 
where. 

Josephine Penfield, Minnie's mother, traces her 
genealogy back through a New England ancestry 
two hundred and fifty years. She was brought 
up, and educated at Oberlin, Ohio. After a 



io THE INVALID SINGER, 

year of post-graduate study she married Rev. R. 
Cushman of South Attleboro, Mass., and went 
as missionary to St. Marc, Hayti, where they 
established a school. 

She passe'd through many thrilling experi- 
ences, lost her husband, conducted the funeral 
services in a foreign tongue — the only white 
woman within ninety miles — then, unable to 
carry on the mission single-handed, returned a 
widow to her parents' home before she was 
twenty years of age. 

She subsequently married Mr. Bateham, and 
for fourteen years they resided in Columbus, 
Ohio, and jointly edited the Ohio Cultivator, 
removing later to Painesville, Ohio. 

Of the seven children that constituted their 
family group, little Minnie was the oldest 
daughter, and was born at Columbus, March 
14, 1856. She was named Minerva Dayton, 
for her honored grandmother Cowles, though, 
according to the usage of the times, she was al- 
ways known to her friends as Minnie Bateham. 

With a strong constitution and good health, 
she passed a sunny, happy childhood, bright- 
ened by a strong imagination, which sometimes 
made it difficult for her to distinguish between 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. II 

fact and fancy, as, when cradled in her mother's 
arms, she said " pretty angels had played with 
her on the lawn and she wanted to go away 
with them, but they wouldn't let her." Her 
thoughts were even then often spontaneously 
expressed in rhyme. When but four years old 
she carried a picture of an organ-grinder to her 
brother and explained, " There's the man that's 
got the music, and the monkey sitting down, 
and the plate where they've been eating, and 
the people all around." 

Two or three years later it was so much her 
habit to tell stories to other children or her 
dolls, in rhyme, that her mother gathered quite 
a collection, which she jotted down without the 
child's knowledge. Sometimes it was a romance ; 
sometimes she told of her home, where 

"You can see the pretty flowers, 

And can watch the April showers. 

The pears and peaches are ripening too, 

And the gay old cock says cock-a-doodle-doo." 

Sometimes there were pretty conceits, as in 
the last verse of " Beautiful Snow," written with- 
out help when eight years old : 



12 THE INVALID SINGER. 

" Beautiful snow, so pretty at night, 

Making everything look so light ; 
How softly they float on the evening air, 

Those beautiful snow-flakes, pure and fair." 

# # # # 

"How bright is the snow where the sun strikes 

the hill, 
But the angels' garments are whiter still, 
And the angels themselves are purer far 
Than even these delicate snowflakes are/' 

Consecrated to God by her mother from the 
first consciousness of motherhood, set apart for 
Him in her infancy, and surrounded always 
with helpful influences, the loving presence of 
Jesus seemed as real to Minnie as that of her 
parents, and she said in later life, "It seems to 
me I have always loved the Savior;" yet in her 
ninth ^year, during meetings held by Mr. Ham- 
mond, the Child's Evangelist, her religion took 
on a more decided type. On her ninth birth- 
day she wrote: 

"To-day is my birthday., and I am so glad! 
'Tis the happiest day J gyer Jiaye had. 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 13 

The soft winds are blowing, the robins have 

come; 
They must know it's my birthday, so sweet is 

their song. 

-7? TT T? T<? 

"Mr. Hammond has been here and talked so 

with me, 
A good Christian girl I am sure I shall be. 
To Jesus I've given my heart 'just now,' 
And will love him and please him the best I 

know how.'' 

Later, she recorded this 

"MORNING PRAYER. 

" Blessed Jesus, hear me pray: 
Help me to be good to-day ; 
Help me to temptations meet, 
In the house and on the street; 
Without yielding to them ever, 
Help me, Christ, in my endeavor! 

"Help me when I go to school, 
There to keep the golden rule; 
Make me kind to baby brother, 
And obedient to my mother ; 



14 THE INVALID SINGER, 

All my many sins forgive, 
And live with me while I live." 

The Sabbath was the red-letter day for 
Minnie and all the children, who never counted 
it a weariness to sit through the church ser- 
vice; in fact, while it was made attractive, 
they were never consulted about attendance, 
their parents preferring that habit should lead 
them with its strong chain to, instead of from, 
the house of God. The Sabbath school, family 
worship and home song-service were always 
enjoyed, and especially the visit with mother, 
which was the great treat of the week, when 
singing, stories, prayer, in which each took a 
turn, and mutual confidences about the right 
and wrong doing of the week were delightfully 
mingled, and new motto verses given — the 
whole ending with something good to eat. 

Minnie was not precocious in her studies, 
preferring out-door play, yet always acquitted 
herself well, especially in composition. At 
home French was sometimes the only language 
mother would use with the children, and they 
became proficient enough to astonish their 
schoolmates. This stimulated Minnie, who 



PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 15 

announced that they were learning another lan- 
guage, and she did in fact invent something 
which she called the Tutten language, having 
a simple system which she taught the others, 
and they delighted in mystifying mother with 
their conversation which she could not under- 
stand, till they turned the tables and became 
teacher. 

A little cousin of Minnie's, a child of foreign 
missionaries, having been sent to grandmother 
Cowles for education, Minnie went for a few 
months, when twelve years old, to be her com- 
panion, and attended school at Oberlin, making 
some permanent friends by her sweet ways and 
quaint speeches. 

We extract from one of her school composi- 
tions this account of an early episode in her 
life : 

"HOW I WAS SHUT UP IN JAIL. 

"When I was very small and living at Colum- 
bus, I visited my grandmother at Oberlin. 

"Finally father wrote to have me sent to 
Cleveland to meet him, so they sent me by Mrs. 
Fitch, who was going to see her husband, who 
was there in jail. He was not in prison for 



1 6 THE INVALID SINGER. 

doing wrong, but because he was suspected of 
having helped a poor slave to escape from his 
master. Father did not get grandma's letter 
and could not find us nor we him; so Mrs. 
Fitch took me to jail with her, and after a 
few days Uncle John came and took me back 
to Oberlin. 

" Meanwhile, I was staying in jail. One of 
my old teachers from Columbus and some other 
good men were in jail for the same reason, and 
though everything was very strange, I enjoyed 
myself pretty well." 



THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 17 



CHAPTER II. 

THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 

IMMEDIATELY after her return from Ober- 
lin occurred the circumstances which re- 
sulted in Minnie's long martyrdom of suffering. 
She went as visitor to the school her younger 
sister attended, and in preparation for the 
closing exercises they were detained to a late 
hour, and a cold rain setting in, both were wet 
and chilled through before reaching home. 
Vigorous means were used to prevent evil 
results, but in Minnie's case unsuccessfully, as 
she seemed to have rheumatism ; and in just a 
week from the wetting, when she sprang from 
her bed in the morning, she dropped on the 
floor and could not rise. Her father heard her 
call, and bore her to her mother's room and 
laid her down, there to remain for years. 

What seemed a violent attack of inflamma- 
tory rheumatism proved to be necrosis, an 
inflammation of the membrane covering the 



1 8 THE INVALID SINGER. 

bone, in nature similar to a felon, but on a 
large scale. The disease gradually spread till 
it involved the whole bone system ; literally 
scores of abscesses from time to time, and 
sometimes six or eight at once, being employed 
in throwing out the dead bone, sometimes in 
large pieces, from every part of the body except 
the right arm. 

Severe surgical operations were repeatedly 
resorted to in the vain hope of arresting the 
disease, and so intense was the suffering that 
for weary weeks and months the most powerful 
anodynes were constantly administered by 
turns, though scarcely lessening the pain, and 
the wings of the death-angel seemed always 
hovering near. During all this time she was 
not only a helpless sufferer, but usually motion- 
less on her special hospital cot, the slightest 
change of position causing extreme agony. As 
no other hands could touch her so gently, 
mother was the constant nurse, and father 
soothed the intense nervous suffering by hours 
of gentle rubbing. 

I cull from letters written that year : " Min- 
nie prays a great deal both when sane and 
delirious, and asks to have the Bible read. 



THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 19 

Her mind often wanders, but as soon as it is 
clear she asks for it again. ' Do you think I 
am patient? 1 she asked to-day. 'You don't 
know how hard I try to be, or how hard it is.' 
At other times, 'Oh, I'm not as good as I ought 
to be! oh, I'm not! I'm not! How could I 
live without prayer!' At another time she said, 
'Why doesn't God hear prayer for met every- 
body prays for me and still I grow worse all 
the time. And what troubles me most is that 
Jesus never seems near, helping me to bear 
it; why doesn't He? I pray for it and am will- 
ing His will should be done, and I know He 
loves me; but I don't seem to love Him. I cry 
over it and pray about it, and it does no good. 
Ask grandpa to pray that I may love Jesus 
more, and feel His presence.' ' O, dear Jesus, 
please let me die,' is on her lips many and 
many a time. ' There'll be no pain there — no 
pain; oh, take me home.' And again, 'I can't 
express the longing I have to go and leave this 
poor body, and be with Jesus.' " 

She sometimes realized that her frequent 
spiritual depression was the natural result of 
physical causes, and that Jesus' face was just 
as smiling, even when a cloud obscured her 



20 THE INVALID SINGER. 

vision. Receiving a basket of rosebuds and 
pansies, she found among them this verse, 
which she adopted as her motto : 

" Under the shadow of thy wings will I make 
my refuge till these calamities be overpast." 

She had no shrinking from death itself, and 
wrote : 

"DEATH'S GATEWAY. 

" Christians should not fear to die, 

Not at all. 
Turning from our friends and mates, 
Entering the pearly gates, 
Where our loved Redeemer waits ; 

That is all. 

"Though we suffer here, we know 

He's our Friend ; 
Our dear Savior, kind and true, 
He will help and bear us through, 
Till Mount Zion comes in view 

At the end. 

"Glad we'll leave our troubled life 
Here below. 



THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 2 1 

For in heaven we ne'er shall sin ; 
Perfect happiness we'll win ; 
Naught impure can enter in, 
That we know." 

As time passed on she had longer intervals 
of rest from pain, and these became still longer, 
until the prospect changed from that of a 
speedy journey to the palace of the King, 
which she so greatly coveted, to one of life-long 
invalidism and suffering ; yet her sweet spirit 
never really murmured. Once, during long and 
weary pain, she cried out, " Oh, why should / 
have to suffer all this ; /, who dread pain 
worse, and suffer more with it, than almost any 
person living. I cannot bear it ! " quickly 
adding, " Oh, I don't know what I am saying ; 
I suffer so." Usually she had no expression 
but of the resignation so sweetly voiced in 
verses written about this time. 

"SHUT IN. 

"How well I loved in early spring 
To roam the meadows through, 

To hear the wild birds sweetly sing, 
And hunt the violets blue. 



2 2 THE INVALID SINGER. 

"Now I lie quiet on my bed, 

And cannot even move ; 
But then the others tell me all, 

And bring the flowers I love. 

"And I can from the windows look, 

And breathe the balmy air, 
And soon, I'll hope, be wheeled around 

Reclining in my chair. 

"This is the second spring that here 

In helplessness I've lain; 
And possibly I ne'er shall be 

Able to walk again. 

"But when all nature's putting on, 
Of green leaves, all her wealth, 

I hope that He who made the Spring 
Will raise me up to health. 

"But still I say, 'Thy will be done,' 

And surely feel that He 
Who cares for every tender flower 

Knows what is best for me." 

At family worship on Thanksgiving Day, 
November, 187 1, each child as well as the pa- 
rents presented on a slip of paper the thing he 






THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING. 23 

was most thankful for; from "a pair of new 
boots" to "the love of Jesus." Minnie's con- 
tribution read : " I am thankful for our un- 
broken family circle. Longfellow says: 'There 
is no flock, however watched and tended, but 
one dead lamb is there ; ' and it is certainly 
rare to find so large a family as ours from 
which not one has been taken. Truly the 
Lord has been very good to us. Let us try to 
make our family circle like a sweet harp ; pro- 
ducing only sounds of harmony and love, with 
no discords to mar the music of our daily life; 
for ere we meet for next year's Thanksgiving, 
one loved face may be missing, and one harp- 
string broken, so that our harp may no more 
produce perfect melody. 

" Children, ere the dread destroyer 
Sets his seal on lip and brow, 

Let us love, and let us show it, 
Show it always, show it now." 



24 THE INVALID SINGER. 



CHAPTER III. 

CONVALESCENCE AND FLAMES. 

AFTER seventeen months, Minnie was so 
far recovered as to be lifted into an invalid 
chair, still flat on her back, and was wheeled 
gently out among the flowers she loved. "It 
was so beautiful,'' she wrote, "to see the blue 
sky and be under the green trees; it was almost 
like being well." Games, knitting and embroid- 
ery, as well as pen and books served to divert 
her thoughts, and her needle helped in prepar- 
ation for the festival of her loved Mission Band, 
and her verses greeted her returning pastor. 

In December, 1870, she wrote: "My two 
sisters and I, with fifteen others, are to join the 
church next Sabbath, and my pastor and two 
deacons will administer the sacrament to me 
afterward. We are hoping for a great revival 
this winter." 

Early the next spring, after long suffering, 
and only one week after a most trying surgical 
operation, her mother was persuaded to take a 



CONVALESCENCE AND FLAMES. 25 

ride in the fresh air, leaving Minnie with her 
father. In her absence the house took fire and 
was speedily burned to the ground, the last 
wing falling in just as the mother drove up. 
Kind neighbors had done what they could, and 
Minnie had been lifted out on her mattress and 
laid on the lawn. It had been a narrow escape 
for life, as the roof fell in while they were cross- 
ing the threshold and the room was instantly 
filled with fire and debris. Before help arrived, 
Minnie had been left alone while her father 
tried to put out the fire. On being asked if she 
was not afraid to be alone so long, while she 
heard the flames crackling on every side, she 
said: " Not much; I kept still and prayed all the 
time, and I knew father would not let me burn, 
for he promised to take me out as soon as 
others came to help." 

With the aid of the same kind friends the 
family were comfortably located elsewhere be- 
fore nightfall, and Minnie bore the removal and 
changes without permanent injury, and joined 
the family thanksgiving for spared lives and 
loving friends. "Our Twin Oaks" — whose 
tragic death is portrayed on page 82 — is a 
memorial of this fire. 



26 THE INVALID SINGER. 



CHAPTER IV. 

WRITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

TO enlarge and sweeten the child's shut-in 
life, her mother usually spent a part of 
each day reading aloud from the best poets and 
prose writers, and in her comfortable hours 
Minnie pursued her own studies, wrote letters 
and competed, usually with success, for prizes 
offered by different periodicals for the literary 
productions of children. And this, too, under 
almost insurmountable difficulties, as for more 
than thirty slow months she lay mostly in one 
position, having at the best the free use only 
of her head and right arm and the fingers of 
the left hand. But with a low desk resting on 
the bed, she became quite independent. 

In a letter to a friend she writes: "I am four- 
teen now, and have not left my bed for more 
than two years, and write lying flat on my back; 
but I can usually read and write and study, and 
my friends are very kind, and I teach my little 



WRITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 27 

brother; so on the whole I guess I enjoy life as 
well as most people do, if I cannot walk or 
even sit up." 

"My Flowers," "Snow Fancies," "Take Hold 
of my Hand," and many others were written 
about this time. 

After the terrible Chicago lire of 187 1, she 
wrote to an editor friend. "Dear Editor: — I 
write to tell you of our deep sympathy in your 
losses. We are glad your paper, recovering 
from its burning fever, will soon be able to visit 
us again. I wish I could do something for you, 
and, not having drawn my prize money yet, I 
ask you to accept the draft which I now return. 
We know how to sympathize with you, having 
been ourselves burned out last winter. May 
God bless and prosper you ! — Your friend, 

"Minnie D. Bateham." 

Here is a specimen of her ingenious amuse- 
ment, each stanza containing every letter of 
the alphabet: 

"THE QUESTION. 
"My Lizzie expected to visit big Jake, 
And feared she must answer the question at 
stake, 



28 THE INVALID SINGER. 

"Which was whether Mabel in earnest did say 
Frit'z views were quixotic, or only in play. 

u As Mabel was joking, Fritz quickly excused, 
And verily hoped they'd be friends as they used." 

A more elaborate specimen, using only the 
vowel I, won a prize from Little Corporal Maga- 
zine for the best and longest story using but 
one vowel throughout. Minnie's used over 1200 
I's, and its style may be gathered from the first 
sentence: "Miss Higgins's First Xig/it in Missis- 
sippi. Sir Philip Irving's third child, Phil, lik- 
ing driving in mild spring nights, is riding with 
Miss Lil Higgins (Miss Higgins is visiting Sir 
Philip Irving) in his gig, in this diminishing 
light, drinking in inspiring sights in this wild 
district in Mississippi." 

She delighted in anagrams, making at one 
time 800 English words from the title " Prince 
Alexis." 

In a letter of thanks for a beautiful engrav- 
ing, Minnie wrote of her pretty room and its 
many pictures, adding: " The most beautiful of 
all to me is the Wreathed Cross, because of its 
hopeful and comforting suggestions. I think 
it shows how our crosses, painful and wearing 



WRITING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 29 

as they may be, can be changed into things of 
beauty and even joy, if they are wreathed about 
with the flowers of faith and trust and love. 
With pictures and flowers one may almost for- 
get the outside world. All last winter our south 
windows were bright with blossoms and the air 
was filled with their fragrance, while high over 
all, the beautiful ivies went climbing, climbing 
up and around the pictures, wreathing the 
whole with beauty. Do you think this a small 
pleasure to an invalid to have such a bower of 
beauty continually before the eyes? No; thank 
God for pictures and flowers." 

All the children wrote occasional notes to 
mother, and one of Minnie's this year reads: 
"Dear, dear mother, do you really think I am 
growing more like Jesus? As I look back from 
day to day I can see no improvement, and I 
know I do many wrong things; sometimes I am 
almost discouraged. I do want and try to be 
better, but the upward path is straight and nar- 
row, and I often stumble and fall. Good-bye, 
dear mother; you have your trials and I have 
mine; let us pray for each other. Pray that I 
may grow in grace and in the knowledge of 
our Lord and Saviour. 

"Your loving daughter, "Minnie." 



30 THE INVALID SINGER. 



CHAPTER V. 



SISTER LOUISE. 



ONE of the greatest shocks of her life came 
to Minnie in 1872, in the death of her 
sister, Louise Lovell, twelve and a half years 
old, to whom "A June Blossom" — page 112 — is 
her beautiful tribute. Though diffident and 
shy, Louise always won love by her gentle 
voice, warm heart, and uniform self-forgetful 
ministry to others. 

She was well advanced in her studies, yet 
spent so many happy hours out of doors under 
her father's guidance, that just before her death 
she took from Hearth and Home the highest 
prize over several hundred competitors for the 
largest list of correctly named native flowers 
seen in bloom in May, 1872. The study and 
work this involved, in addition to school duties, 
was probably too severe a strain, and after 
a week's illness she died of peritonitis. 



SISTER LOUISE. 31 



She was a consistent Christian, and the 
Testament, found in her school-dress pocket, 
was marked all through with the passages she 
loved, many of them about death and heaven ; 
and when in her last illness her mother said to 
her, "We think Jesus wants you up in heaven, 
and will come for you very soon," she said, 
" Do you mean that I am going to die ? " " Yes, 
dear." "Oh, how good God is, how good He 
is(" she answered. "Do you want to go?" 
"Oh, yes; only think of it ! I shall see Him as 
He is, see Him as He is. Oh, mamma dear, 
how good God is !" 

The world-old question, "Why," came to 
Minnie, and she queried why one so strong 
and one loving life was taken from those who 
needed her, while she who longed to go must 
still wait in helplessness for her summons? 
Yet she fully trusted Jesus, and began from 
this time to cherish the hope that, through her 
own gift of writing, trained under the Master's 
eye, she might be designed to bear a helpful 
message to others. 

All that summer Minnie was herself so great 
a sufferer, her life was often despaired of, and 
she wrote once : " I am in pain every minute, 



32 THE INVALID SINGER. 

and it would be bliss to know I, too, should 
not live a year." A touching little poem, en- 
titled " Waiting," from her pen, expressed this 
longing. 



TRAINING FOR SERVICE. 33 



CHAPTER VI. 



TRAINING FOR SERVICE. 



MINNIE loved Paul's motto, <; I keep my 
body under." The poem, "The Soul's 
Supremacy," — page in — shows the resolution 
with which she maintained her independence, 
even now, when the citadel was threatened. 
When again she rallied, and from that time on 
through life, whenever the freedom from pain 
permitted, she bent herself to the task of sys- 
tematically training and educating her mind 
by pursuing her high-school studies, taking the 
Chautauqua course of study, and later by the 
thorough study of Greek, which was a favorite 
with her. 

She loved study, yet with all her weakness 
and pain she could never have held herself to 
her work and made the thorough student she 
did, with no help but such as her parents and 
pastor and the Greek club could give, had she 
not been enthused with love for the personal 



34 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Jesus. For Him she wished to make the most 
of every power He had given, that she might 
use them for His glory and the good of those 
for whom He had died. This consecration and 
hope illumined every hour. She would work 
out the Master's thought for her. She writes: 

" O, thou great Architect, whose least designs 
Grow to creations, plan my life for me ! 

Sign with Thy Name of power the contract lines, 
And but the humble laborer I will be, 

Whose daily toil beneath a wise command 
Works out the pattern in the Master's hand." 

Present opportunities for service and the 
training these afforded, were never lost sight 
of. Her large, sunny room was the most 
attractive family gathering room, and only 
eternity can show the influence upon the others 
of her brave patience, her ready sympathy and 
helpfulness, and the contagious buoyancy of 
her spirits. Even baby brother, of whom she 
wrote page 79, if he hurt himself, would run to 
Minnie to "kiss it well." For years she was 
the children's teacher, and when her sisters 
were at college, and brother teaching, or in 
business, Minnie wrote most of the family let- 



TRAINING FOR SERVICE. 35 

ters, and bright, cheery, newsy letters they 
were. Her skillful needle was often in de- 
mand, and she was as proud of her beautiful 
darning as her embroidery or crochet. "Tem- 
ple Sweepers, " one of her poems, illustrates 
the governing impulse of her life. 

When sixteen she was announced as regular 
contributor to the Young Folk's Record, and 
from this correspondence we make two ex- 
tracts. In an article on "Four-footed Friends," 
she says: "I hardly think we can grow up to 
be good, true, noble men and women, such as 
we all want to be, if we hate or are unkind to 
any of God's dumb creatures." 

Writing of the Family Improvement Society, 
and its successful efforts to banish the slang 
that had crept in unawares, she closes by say- 
ing: "Mistakes in grammar or pronunciation 
are now rare, and slang almost unknown. 
Even little Charlie, four years old, often cor- 
rects himself when he makes a mistake, with 
perfect gravity, as if it were a matter of course. 
On Friday comes our family sociable, when 
father and mother always give an evening to 
us children, and let almost nothing interfere with 
it, and we look forward to it and prepare for 



3 6 THE INVALID SINGER. 

it all the week. First, we have the Improve- 
ment Society's report and prizes; then games of 
all kinds, music and readings; and lastly, any 
nice eatables we have in the house, such as 
nuts, fruit, popcorn and candy. We wish all 
children could have as happy times as we." 



rRAYER CURE AND THE CRUSADE. 37 



CHAPTER VII. 

PRAYER CURE AND THE CRUSADE. 

FOR months in 1873 the loved teaching and 
study were again dropped, and dreary pain 
was her constant companion. Of this time 
her mother wrote: "Whether Minnie will rally 
again, as I am inclined to expect, or sink rapidly 
we cannot tell; one thing is certain: for four 
years she has not at any time suffered so 
severely as the past few weeks. It is agony to 
her and to us. She is so low and looks so 
corpse-like, we often watch to see if she still 
breathes, and a child's footfall hurts her. It 
will seem like a resurrection if she is restored; 
we long to be able to move her just a little." 
When slowly rallying, friends besought her to 
try "Prayer Cure," and many from far and 
near joined Minnie and her parents in earnest 
prayer for her complete recovery. Yet, while 
believing and claiming God's ample promises 
to importunate and faith-filled prayers, even for 



3 8 THE INVALID SINGER. 



temporal things, they realized that the strong- 
est faith, being coupled with human short-sight- 
edness and ignorance, must still voluntarily 
leave the results to be decided by infinite wis- 
dom and love. 

Minnie's own faith was strong and she gained 
rapidly, and in September was so far recovered 
as to stand on her feet, substitute crutches for 
the wheel-chair with which she had for some 
time moved about the rooms ; and also to take 
her first ride on a buggy seat, instead of having 
her chair lifted into the carriage. At this time 
she wrote, " Mother says there are other ways 
of prayer cure, besides being healed all in a 
minute." 

But in October she wrote: "I am much worse 
again, and both back and head are threatened. 
I thought I ought to tell you and all who are 
helping us in the prayer cure, so that they may 
join us in prayer that this may be averted. It 
would seem discouraging, when I am getting 
along so nicely, to go clear back again, but I 
have strong faith that it will not happen, that 
He is only trying our faith. But if it should be 
best, surely I should not be the one to complain, 



PRAYER CURE AXD THE CRUSADE. 39 

when He has been so good to me. I am very 
happy and content. " 

A few weeks of sharp suffering followed, and 
then she became even better than before, and 
the next year was able to throw aside her 
crutches and walk without assistance. 

In March, 1874, the Woman's Temperance 
Crusade, with its wave of excitement sweeping 
through Ohio, struck Painesville; and by the 
earnest wish of husband, children and friends, 
Minnie's mother yielded to an urgent call and 
became its local leader, while Minnie sympa- 
thized heartily at every step. Her buggy was 
often on the outskirts of the crowd that always 
attended the street meetings, and no one was 
happier than she when, at the first surrender, she 
saw the beer emptied into the gutter, and the 
crowd struck up, "Praise God from whom all 
blessings flow." From Minnie's regular reports 
to Oberlin friends I make one extract. 

"The work is getting spicy. Mr. B. still 
refuses to let the ladies in, and they hold a side- 
walk meeting, but they are well treated at all 
the other places except by S. He proves to be 
the Van Pelt of Painesville. Time before last 



40 THE INVALID SINGER. 



when they visited him, he urged them all inside 
(they usually extended out on the walk), then 
shut and locked the doors, built a raging hot 
lire in the stove, and set several men to smoking 
tobacco behind the screen partition. The 
ladies would not be driven out, however; they 
took off their wraps, found seats for the weak 
ones, stayed an hour, and had a good meeting. 

" Yesterday the ladies adopted new tactics 
and made an evening attack on the saloons. 
They divided into three bands and took them 
all by surprise, found the rooms full of men 
playing billiards, and had good audiences. 
Mother's band visited S. and found him very 
mad at their coming in the evening. He shut 
and locked the doors, the men withdrew by the 
back door, and he threw red pepper on the hot 
stove. The ladies nearly suffocated, but they 
stood it bravely. They could not sing after 
the opening hymn, their throats smarted so, 
but there was no let up to the prayers, for when 
one voice failed another began. The people 
outside smelled the pepper a full square off, 
hunted S. up, and compelled him to open the 
doors. There is much excitement to-day; no 



PRAYER CURE AXD THE CRUSADE. 41 

one knows what S. will do next, but the ladies 
will never be driven away." 

Minnie's "Temperance Marseillaise" Hymn 
— page 93 — written for a Painesville choir, was 
published as sheet music by Brainard and Co., 
Cleveland, and was taken up with enthusiasm all 
over the State, helping very materially at the 
mass meetings. "Our Star Spangled Banner," — 
page 95 — was also a factor of the general work. 

Minnie's interest in the temperance work 
never ceased; she was active in the Young 
People's Temperance Society, and helped the 
cause in every way possible, and when her 
mother took on National work, she was depart- 
ment secretary till her death. 



42 THE INVALID SIXGER. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



LETTERS. 

IN response to a birthday letter from her 
grandmother, Minnie wrote in March, 1876: 

"Dear Grandma: — I can hardly realize that 
girlhood's teens are all behind me forever; it 
seems a great leap to take, with no visible 
reason. I don't feel a bit older than I did five 
years ago, and not half as wise. If I only 
knew more, or could do more, I shouldn't 
mind ; but sometimes I think I take up more 
room in the world than I am worth. How- 
ever, I do believe God has special work 
for each one of His children, and if we are 
patient, doing all the small duties meanwhile, 
He will prepare us for it and show it to us in 
His own good time. 

" It may be He has nothing for me except 
little humble, daily duties all my life; and if so, 
and I can do them as I ought, I am content. 



LETTERS. 43 



I only want to do and be just what He desires, 
and anything that will help me to that will be 
welcome. 

"The * serious discipline ' of which you speak 
as having been mine for so many years, does 
not seem dreadful to me, looking back upon it; 
it was but the shadow of God's hand, and 
whom He loveth He chasteneth. The thought 
that the reason for my being afflicted more 
than many others may be because He loved me 
more, though I hardly dare think it can be 
true of myself, thrills me with its strange sweet- 
ness every time I think of it. 

"I think — I am sure, that if it would be better 
for the growth of my soul, and I could serve 
Him best in that way, 1 should be willing and 
glad to < suffer and be still' all my life. For I 
am persuaded that neither life, nor death, nor 
any other creature shall be able to separate us 
from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus; 
and isn't it blessed to think how His love covers 
all failures, and supplements all our feeble 
efforts, and that, as our pastor says, 'It is 
easier to please Him than any earthly friend 
we have.' 

" In reading of the many revivals all over 



44 THE INVALID SINGER. 

the country now, I love to think how many 
thousands of hearts are today rejoicing in a 
strange, new, abiding happiness, who three 
months ago were restlessly tossing on the 
waves of worldliness and trouble ; and that 
this God is our God forever and ever, makes a 
wonderful bond of union between us and all 
the world. 

"I have taken a class in Sabbath school, and 
enjoy it very much, though getting up and 
down stairs is hard work. 

"Your loving granddaughter, 

"Minnie.'' 

On a similar occasion the following year, she 
wrote : 

" Thanks for another birthday letter. What 
I am most grateful for in it is the assurance you 
give that you pray for me so frequently. It is 
the most precious gift I could ask from any one. 
I more and more believe in the power of prayer, 
and cannot help but think the aged children of 
God, with their greater depths of experience 
and faith, and their long years of loving service 
to the Lord rising up before Him as sweet 



LETTERS, 45 



incense, must be able to offer more effectual 
prayers than the younger disciples ; and that 
they themselves are nearer His heart, as they are 

to His many mansions I cannot tell, 

of course, whether I shall ever recover my 
health ; it hardly looks as probable as it did a 
year ago, but I am in His hands, and quite con- 
tent to leave it to Him. If I may only serve 
Him acceptably through everything, it will be 
all I shall wish. 

" Lovingly yours, 

" Minnie." 

After this she endured a long and severe 
siege of sickness, then came up again smiling, 
and wrote to grandma : " I want to add a few 
lines myself to show that I am really better. I 
have been able to discontinue those disturbing 
opiates, and suffer little now, except from nerv- 
ousness ; appetite is returning, and I begin to 
sit up. I have mourned most for my necessary 
absence from the dear girls of my Sabbath- 
school class, and from church, which is no small 
trial ; but I should indeed be a dull pupil if: I 
had not learned to say, ' The will of the Lord 
be done.'" 



46 THE INVALID SINGER. 

In 1879 necrosis again laid her aside, and 
when once more able to attend church, her let- 
ters tell of the new Sabbath-school class of nine 
bright boys, whose activities, mental and physi- 
cal, taxed all her powers, but whose hearts she 
held, and whose souls, by all suitable devices 
coupled with prayer, she was seeking to train 
for the kingdom. She says: tl I enjoy the work 
both for its own sake and the Master's, whose 
one command after the ' Lovest thou me?" was, 
' Feed my lambs.' " 

Later she tells of the Chautauqua circle of 
fourteen she had helped organize and conduct, 
and to whose work, with related studies, she 
gave three hours a day. Again : " I am very 
busy among the girls, working up the organiza- 
tion of a Young Woman's Missionary Society, 
and soon we shall have the big convention here. 
I am unusually anxious to keep well, there is so 
much I want to do." In March, 1880. she wrote 
to a cousin : " Shall I give you last week's 
program as a sample of what the winter has 
been ? 

" On Sabbath, four services — two sermons, 
Sabbath school, and young people's meeting; 
Monday night, meeting of the Chautauqua Circle; 



LETTERS. 4-7 



Tuesday night, a tea party; Wednesday, church 
social; Thursday morning, public examinations 
at the seminary ; evening, church prayer meet- 
ing, followed by teacher's meeting ; Friday 
evening, normal class ; and Saturday afternoon, 
Mission Circle. All these I attended, remem- 
ber. I especially enjoy the Biblical studies in 
the Chautauqua course. The Bible seems like a 
new book to me, thanks to this course and our 
pastor with his normal class. " 

To a sister, in March, 1877, she writes: 

" Do pray for me every day as I do for 

you. If we could always feel as we do some- 
times, so close to Jesus that His love fills our 
very souls, and makes us glad and strong 
enough for anything, there would not be so 
much need of it ; but sometimes the clouds shut 
down and hide His face, and we just have to 
cling to Him by faith, and trust. We are too 
apt to depend on feeling instead of faith, and 
the Lord doesn't think best for us to stay on 
the mountain tops, if they are pleasant. I do 
try to serve Him through everything. I improve 
in health slowly ; this illness has been so much 
longer and more severe than any for several 
years, I cannot expect to gain rapidly, but I am 



48 THE INVALID SINGER. 

in such a hurry to get strong and be out again, 
it has been a greater trial than usual this time 
on account of music ; one's voice gets out of 
practice so easily. 

"It was a great trial that I was not strong 
enough to sing in the concert by our great 
Choral Union, for which I had prepared ; but I 
could not give up hearing it, as I had begun to 
sit up, so my dear, big brother carried me into 
church in his arms ; and I cannot begin to teli 
you how I enjoyed it. It was grand. " 

For several years she not only taught in the 
home Sabbath school, but also taught and sang 
in the summer afternoons in a neighborhood 
school on her own street. In April, 1876, she 
says : " Our Mentor Avenue school opens 
again next week ; we have got everything in 
readiness and expect a better school than ever. 
We hate to give up young people's meetings, 
which grow larger and more interesting, but five 
services a day are too much — at least, for me. 
Teaching two classes is quite fatiguing, but I 
can't bear to give up the church school, and 
really seem needed here. I enjoy both." The 
"we" included the "big brother" aforesaid, 
who was always her devoted ally and help. 



YEARS. 49 



CHAPTER IX. 



HER LATER YEARS, 



THE years 1 880-81 were heavily clouded, 
though Minnie could always see the silver 
lining of God's love. For months she was her- 
self laid aside, a part of the time unable even 
to beguile her nerves with reading; the dear 
grandmother Cowles, whose eighty years had not 
dulled the vigor of brain or warmth of heart, 
exchanged this world for a heavenly, and Minnie 
felt bereft; and in August her own precious 
father, after months of waiting, passed through 
the sunset gates into glory. 

There was a remarkably strong tie between 
Minnie and the dear father, who for twelve years 
had been unwearied in his efforts to relieve the 
tedium of her invalidism and turn the cross into 
a blessing, and the loss was ever after keenly 
felt. Those months of waiting had been months 
of blessed communing, and earth could not fill 



50 THE INVALID SINGER. 

the void. A new tie bound her to heaven and 
a new impulse was given to her Christian life. 

We extract from her letters written February 
1 88 1, to her sister at Oberlin: k 'Do be careful 
about overdoing. Keep well, if possible, but keep 
happy anyway. Above all things don't get blue, 
even if the flesh is weak. Will power cannot 
always prevent this, but God can ; I have learned 
that myself this winter. Jt almost always comes 
from looking at one's self and the future. Look 
to Christ and trust Him for today, and it will be 
all easy. Don't you remember the recipe in 
your album ? 

" Build a little fence of trust 

Around to-day; 
Fill the space with loving work 

And therein stay. 
Look not through the sheltering bars 

Upon to-morrow; 
God will help thee bear what comes, 

Of joy or sorrow." 

"I have three cures for the blues: 'Do some- 
thing for somebody,' 'Tell God everything/ and 
my last year's motto-text, 'Looking unto Jesus.' 



HER LATER YEARS. 



Our pastor's sermon yesterday was about happi- 
ness — the difference between being happy and 
feeling happy, and the duty of the former even if 
the latter was impossible. ... I have not been 
out of bed in seven w r eeks, and write now in 
great weakness." In a letter to a friend a litttle 
earlier she says: "It has been and is a little 
trying not to be able to read or think much, and 
the outlook for the future in regard to strength 
is not encouraging, but I have only to live one 
day at a time, and most of my days are happy. 
Any where, any how, any what — so that it is 
work for the Master; and I read yesterday that 
well waited is well done.' Sometimes I think 
it possible that I may slip away after a little, 
but I don't dare think of it much ; I don't want 
to get homesick before the Lord wants me to 
come. I don't think it is mere waiting now; at 
least, if I am not learning anything, it is not 
because the Lord does not try to teach me." 

May 10 she wrote: "Yesterday was Sunday, 
and as I lay in the hammock (for my life is 
divided now into hammock days and non-ham- 
mock days, when I am shut in,) the orioles and 
golden wrens were flashing in and out of the 
blossoming plum trees against the blue sky, and 



52 THE INVALID SINGER. 

made a picture *for an artist — only he could not 
depict motion, still less song and fragrance. I 
don't believe an angel straight out of heaven 
could have helped enjoying yesterday, even if 
1 earth is a desert drear.' It was all the lovelier 
for being Sunday; the ' odor of sanctity' mixes 
with the cherry blossoms, and it is more God's 
world on His day always. Today it is too cool 
to be out, but this minute I see a fat, self satisfied 
robin under my window, gathering his bill full of 
dried grass while keeping one eye on me to see 
what I am going to do about it. I am getting 
on famously, and am actually planning for a ride 
next week." 

The years as they went by were happy years, 
mostly filled to the brim with healthful activities. 
She was occasionally laid aside for a few weeks 
or months by the old disease, but was compar- 
atively well between the lapses, and by surgical 
help was enabled to walk with small outward 
token of her disability. Croquet, in which she 
excelled, gave her outdoor exercise; she cared 
for her flowers and canary bird, was the centre 
of home life, shared the pleasure of a large 
circle of young friends, where her influence was 



HER LATER YEARS. 53 

felt in a fuller and more aggressive and self- 
denying discipleship. 

She was a great reader of books and book 
reviews, and kept herself informed on all the 
great movements and questions of the day. 
Music, and especially singing, had always afforded 
her intense enjoyment, and with returning health 
her strong, sweet voice had received special train- 
ing, and for years she had been permitted to 
serve the great congregation in the choir, and 
take special musical parts elsewhere. She 
greatly enjoyed the Greek Club, of which she 
wrote playfully: 

"They study and argue, they talk and they laugh, 

Unstayed by the wind or weather, 
And politics, Plato, religion and life 

Are straightened out together. 

"Never a problem so deep and grave, 
Or a verb so hard as to beat them; 

And Socrates' search for the wise had ceased 
If he had but happened to meet them." 

Her studies always claimed a large share of 
her time, and her gift of song was carefully cul- 



54 THE INVALID SINGER. 

tivated. Her poems were eagerly welcomed by 
the religious papers, her own modest estimate of 
their worth being expressed in u Undertones " — 
page 90. Yet she says: 

" Springtime and morning may not hide their joy, 
How shall I still my eager heart from singing?'' 

This suggests that one great charm of her life 
was its perennial undercurrent of gladness, 
always ready to bubble up in a spring of pleas- 
ure. 

This happiness was partly due to temperament, 
more to self-control — to her determination to 
look always for the bright things instead of in- 
dulging in self-pity, and most of all to her relL 
gious life. This was not a punctilious discharge 
of duties, but indwelling love. The Bible was to 
her " juicy and meaty/' and she never tired of it, 
drawing her own lessons, as in ''Going to Rome.*' 
Religious writers like Miss Havergal and others 
helped to feed her soul. Failures, short comings, 
sins and wanderings sometimes marked her 
pathway as they do that of others, and bore fruit 
in greater self-distrust, humility, watchfulness 
and repentance, and she was comforted because 
in it all Jesus loved her. 



HER LATER YEARS. 55 

In 1884 Minnie went as delegate to the 
Woman's Board of Missions meeting, held in 
connection with that of the American Board at 
Columbus. Though late in reaching there, from 
illness, her full letters show keen enjoyment. 
Exhausted by travel, the first meeting she attend- 
ed was that of the Woman's Board, u caring 
more for that than for any other meeting." To 
see the officers she knew so well through '"Life 
and LigJit" and hear some of the missionaries 
too, was a rich treat, and she says: " I am so 
glad I came!" She was enthusiastic over the 
regular Board meetings, adding: "I enjoyed 
especially the speeches of young Dr. Scudder, 
going out as missionary, and President Mark 
Hopkins, the personification of venerable good- 
ness. Mary and I had the pleasure of a few 
words for ourselves from him after the meeting." 

A twenty-fifth anniversary reunion of the First 
Congregational Church of Columbus occurring 
at this time, all the former pastors were present, 
and Minnie enjoyed the gatherings and social 
visits with old friends, and especially those with 
her childhood's pastor, Dr. Goodwin, now of 
Chicago, whose sermons, prayers and conversa- 
tions were very inspiring to her. She closes: 



56 THE INVALID SINGER. 

" Every one is so kind and cordial, I should be 
afraid of having my head turned, only that I was 
feeling so disconsolate just before I came that 
I think it is good for me. It always agrees with 
me to be happy, you know, and, in spite of physi- 
cal reasons for not feeling well, such as new 
bone trouble and going more than usual, I am 
really improving in health." 



THE TRANSITION. 57 



CHAPTER X. 



THE TRANSITION. 



IN 1885 Minnie's two younger brothers were 
brought to death's door with typhoid fever; 
and Minnie had a light attack of the same, but 
complicated with her old enemy, necrosis. She 
had so many times returned from the portals of 
another world, it was almost taken for granted 
she would rally again ; but, contrary to expecta- 
tions, both brothers recovered, and Minnie 
passed beyond the vail. Her enjoyments had 
been intense, like her sufferings; she had come 
to look forward to years of happy usefulness, 
and life looked desirable, with the one drawback 
often expressed — the fear of out-living her 
mother, as she had her father. 

She cheerfully joined a prayer circle for her 
recovery, and when her pastor inquired what 
special gift "he should ask of God for her, she 
told him of it and asked him to join the others. 
He replied with the query : " What is really 



5 8 THE INVALID SINGER. 

the bottom wish of your heart about recovery?" 
'•Oh/'* she answered, "I would so much rather 
go home to Jesus than live the suffering life that 
seems before me ; but it wouldn't be loyal to 
those who are praying for my recovery, and I 
think Jesus wants me to live, and His will is 
mine. You don't think it would be right to ask 
God to take me home now, do you? " 

" Certainly I do, if you ask in a submissive 
spirit; it is what he invites you to do," he said. 
On finding that mother, too, counted it her priv- 
ilege, she eagerly prayed that she might be 
taken home, unless it was in the Lord's plan to 
make her truly well, adding that if she could 
glorify Him better by a life of suffering, she 
would take it cheerfully. The prayer was 
speedily answered, and she faded from our 
sight ; illustrating her own paraphrase of one of 
Longfellow's translations : 

" Softly stealing, come, O Death ! 

That thy touch I may not feel; 
Lest the joy of ebbing breath 

Heal the wound thy hand shall deal." 

For days she seemed to hover in a border- 
land, where Heaven was real and earth unreal. 



THE TRANSITION. 59 

She seemed wholly sane and ready to converse, 
but preferred to be left undisturbed, for she 
said : " The angels are with me all the time, 
and we have such good talks; but when you 
speak we have to stop." She described a choir 
of little children that visited her repeatedly; 
sometimes " playing and having fun, to show me 
what good times children have in heaven," and 
often singing for her. " Jesus' Child," she said 
was her favorite. 

Once she broke the stillness by saying: 
"Isn't that delightful music? Surely, mother, 
you can hear that ! " I asked her who was 
singing, and she said: "It is a male quartette; 
they are singing ' Victory.' I never heard such 
music before." Later she said : " Mother, 
hear the music; they are coming for me — so 
many of them — now — quick — help me go." 

She was unconscious of earthly things the 
last twenty-four hours, and passed away as 
gently as the light of day. To quote from her 
own poem, " Beyond " : 

" What wonder blossoms on my sight ! 
The rifted clouds were gates of light, 
And level glories broad and sweet 
Spanned the dark waters to my feet! 



6o THE INVALID SINGER. 

One far ship, like a white-winged soul, 
Sailed in that pathway to the goal. 
Oh, gates of glad surprise, 
For sunset-turning eyes, 
Oh, happy soul that sped away 
And vanished in the skies." 

In the pastor's absence, Dr. Ferguson, an old 
family friend, drew for the assembled friends at 
the funeral these beautiful and suggestive les- 
sons : 

" This place is holy, made so by the life and 
death of a saint of God. She came into the 
kingdom by the way we ought to pray and 
expect our children to come, by growth. She 
came the same way to her gift of song. While yet 
a child, she began the long battle with disease, 
which could have but one end. She was weaned 
from the world, yet had a happy life, a serene 
and joyful face, an illumined face. She was 
busy to help others and do the work of the 
Kingdom. She was ready this long while to go, 
but also ready to bear all God's will. She left 
no last words, we had no need of them ; she 
has left us a priceless legacy — a remembered 
life, living evidence of Christianity, an abiding 



THE TRANSITION. 6 1 

influence greater than that of others not invalid, 
and by her songs she ' being dead yet speaketh.' 
" Other lessons come to us from the easy 
transition of this songful spirit ; from the com- 
fortable thought that death is robbed of terror. 
He 'turneth the shadow of death into morning;' 
from the painless life into which she has en- 
tered, where ' the inhabitant shall not say I am 
sick/ ' neither shall there be any more pain/ 
Heaven seems near and the door stands open 
for us." 

At the next communion season her pastor 
held a commemorative service, at which three 
of her poems were read as illustrating her relig- 
ious life. They were : "The Face of the Lord," 
"His Dwelling Place," and "Jesus our Strength." 

Minnie's oldest brother, living at St. Paul 
was detained from the funeral, and in a letter 
paid this tribute to her helpfulness: "For 
years she has been more to all of us than we 
could be to her, and a perfect miracle of sweet- 
ness and patience through all her sufferings. 
This has been a constant lesson to us, showing 
always and unmistakably the assistance of her 
Savior to bear her burdens. My memory is 
crowded with lovely reminiscences of her." 



62 THE INVALID SINGER. 

One of her young friends wrote: "Her living 
was so nobly done that every one she touched 
was lifted up and made better. I don't think I 
ever saw her at home or away, without being 
benefitted." "Minnie's life," another writes, 
"was a constant inspiration to me; she was so 
helpful in our young ladies' meetings and in 
church work — so kind and so utterly unselfish ! 
I thank God it was my privilege to know and 
love her." 

From others we quote : " Made perfect 
through suffering ; what a triumph of faith ! " 
" She sees the King in His beauty, and herself 
rejoices in the beauty of holiness." " Her case 
has helped in our church prayer-meetings and 
Bible school, as we have tried by her to illus- 
trate Christian character and Christian living. 
She remains yet a blessing in the earth."' 

From the press notices of her death, we quote 
from the Oberlin News: "Minnie was well 
known here ; seventeen years of suffering inva- 
lidism had not prevented her from acquiring 
rare intellectual culture, while her sunny Chris- 
tian life attracted and blessed all who knew her. 
The gift of song has made her name familiar 
to readers of religious papers for many years, 



THE TRANSITION. 63 

and the family, the church, and all good work 
sustain a loss in her death. " 

Christian Statesman : "A beautiful soul has 
lately passed over into the fuller life of the 
better country. Such rare powers and lovely 
spirit are helpful and stimulating to our young 
people, and her removal is a loss to the cause of 
Christ and our country.'' 

Union Signal: "The pearly gates opened 
wide to let in a beautiful spirit — the daughter of 
our National Superintendent of Sabbath Observ- 
ance. For years a suffering invalid, her hand 
and brain and heart were ever busy about her 
Father's business. Confined to a sick-room, no 
narrow walls circumscribed her interest and her 
influence. She felt every throb of the great 
world's heart, and responded to every call for 
sympathy. From that sick room sounded sweet 
strains — singing of devotion, of courage, and of 
faith; some of her poems the world will not 
willingly let die. She enters Heaven with heart 
perfectly attuned to its harmonies, while the 
echo of her songs and the influence of her life 
still bless the earth." 

Dr. Goodwin, referring to their Columbus 
visit, writes: " I was charmed exceedingly with 



64 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Minnie's testimony. I felt that she had come 
into an experience very unusual with most 
invalids — of having conscious victory all the 
way. She not only appreciated Scripture teach- 
ing as being true ; she knew and felt the truth as 
wrought out in herself. She impressed me as 
having a most unusual grasp of faith ; as walk- 
ing in very close and sweet fellowship with the 
dear Lord. She expressed no wish for restored 
health — counting it a boon long since denied, 
and counting it all joy to suffer for His sake. 
Her great longing was to be exactly what the 
Master would desire, sure that He would fashion 
her into His own likeness. She seemed a beau- 
tiful illustration of how nothing — not life or 
death or the powers of evil can separate from 
the conscious embosoming of God's great love ; 
a living and blessed demonstration of how the 
peace of God that passeth all understanding 
can keep the heart of the believer, whatever the 
fiery furnace into which he is thrust." 

The following sketch was written by her 
dearly-loved pastor, Rev. Geo. R. Merrill, of the 
First Congregational Church, of Painesville, O.: 

" Her life seemed a mass of contradictions. 



THE TRANSITION. 65 



Seventeen youthful years of invalidism, bright 
and sunny; hopeless and continuous pain, with 
patience; exclusion, from very childhood, from 
school and ordinary opportunities for training, 
and yet a mind rarely cultivated and adorned ; 
apparently the narrowest circle of opportunity, 
and yet touching a larger world in sympathy 
and helpfulness than her more favored friends ; 
loving life with a youth's intensity, and yet 
longing for Heaven with a matured Christian's 
desire. 

"Her mental culture, gift of song, and what 
is more commonly called the religious life, were 
so blended together that they may not be sep. 
arated. 

"Set apart, at the age of twelve, to a well- 
nigh hopeless invalidism, she so used books 
and friends and nature that few graduates of 
the schools were her equals in the range and 
accuracy of her knowledge. She was specially 
proficient in literature. Her latest study was 
the Greek tongue, which she entered upon for 
the sake of coming nearer to the wonderful life 
which is recorded in it, and she had succeeded 
in its acquisition to such an extent as to read 
Plato with keen enjoyment. 



66 THE INVALID SINGER. 

" Her earliest literary efforts were published 
in the 'Young Folks' Rural/ and the 'Little 
Corporal,' but in later years her poems have 
been familiar to the readers of the l Advance ' 
and ihe ' Congregationalism' Her songs were 
all 'heart songs,' in which some new experience 
of her own, or some new impression of truth 
bubbled forth ; their simplicity and reality gave 
them power to touch the answering chords of 
other hearts. 

" For the impulse of everything, as she con- 
fessed and as her friends saw, was that she was 
a Christian; and no better memorial word could 
be put above her grave than this : ' For His 
sake.' Her Christian life was exquisitely nat- 
ural in its unfolding, beginning with her own 
consciousness of life itself, and the sense of 
what she owed her Lord impelled her to 
strongest efforts to make the most of herself, 
to cultivate and use her gifts, and to make 
everything that belonged to Him her special 
care. And so the Bible-school class and the 
missionary circle, the fortnightly and the nor- 
mal class, all the work of reform in which her 
mother was engaged, were taken into her heart 
and thought for the Master's sake. 



THE TRANSITION. 67 

" None can tell what she was at home — at 
once daughter and younger sister to her mother, 
mentor and help to younger members of the 
flock ; binding household life most rarely by 
the patience of her weakness and the humility 
of love, which were round her like an atmos- 
phere. " 



® ® ® part Second ® ® ® 



50NQJ. 



SONGS 



PRAISE VVAITETH FOR THEE. 

They stand, the regal mountains, 

With crowns of spotless snow, 
Forever changeless, grand, sublime, 

While ages come and go ! 
Each day the morning cometh 

In through the eastern gate, 
With trailing robes of pink and gold. 

Yet still they watch and wait 
For that more glorious morning, 

Till that glad message comes, — 
" Lift up your heads, ye gates of God, 

The King of Glory comes !" 

And so they stand, o'erlooking 
Earth's trouble, pain and sin, 

And wait the call to lift their gates, 
And let the kingdom in. 



72 THE INVALID SINGER. 

O calm, majestic mountains ! 

O ever! <sting hills! 
Beside your patient watch, how small 

Seem all life's joys and ills ! 

Beyond, the restless ocean, 

Mysterious, vast and dim, 
Whose changeful waves forever chant 

Their grand, triumphal hymn ; 
Now tempest lashed and raging, 

With deep and hungry roar, 
The foam-capped billows dash themselves 

In anger on the shore. 

Now wavelets ripple gently 

Along the quiet strand, 
While Summer sunshine broodeth soft 

O'er all the sea and land. 
O mighty waves! as chainless 

And free as birds that skim ! 
There's One who rules the stormy sea, — 

Thy song is all of Him ! 

February, 1873, 



CRUMBS. 73 



CRUMBS. 
Perhaps you have heard, dear children, 

Or may hear in time to come, 
The quaint old fairy legend 

Of little Hop-o'-my-Thumb. 
How, waking once in the darkness, 

Just before dawn of day ; 
He heard his parents talking, 

And trembled to hear them say: 

" A woodcutter's life is toilsome, 

With very pcor wages, too ; 
And the children are so many 

We know not what to do. 
We cannot keep them longer, 

For famine is at the door — 
We must lose them in the forest, 

So they'll come home no more." 

Hop-o'-my-Thumb was the youngest, 

But his heart was brave and kind; 
And a plan by which to save them, 

Quickly entered his mind. 
And so, while the simple breakfast 

Of bread — their only fare — 
Was soon devoured by the others, 

He carefully kept his share. 



74 THE INVALID SINGER, 

The woodman went to his labor 

By morning's earliest light, 
Taking the children with him, 

To work in the woods till night. 
Hop-o'-my-Thumb was ready, 

And followed as he led, 
At every step in the pathway 

Dropping a crumb of bread. 

When deep in the thickest forest, 

The father bid them stay 
To gather and bind the bundles ; 

Then quietly slipped away ! 
At last the sun was setting, 

And their father did not come ; 
So with fear and hunger, sobbing, 

They sought the pathway home. 

And when the search seemed fruitless, 

They listened to Hop o'-my-Thumb, 
Who safely led them homeward 

By the aid of each little crumb ; 
Till, just at the close of evening, 

Their tired feet reached the door, 
Where the mother received them gladly, 

And loved them as before ! 



CRUMBS. 75 



I think the world is a forest ; 

While we, like the children, try 
To reach the House of Our Father, 

His beautiful Home on high! 
But we try in vain to gain it, 

Till our Elder Brother comes, 
And shows the path of duty, 

By precious guiding crumbs. 

The path is rough and thorny, 

Stumble and fall we may ; 
But the crumbs are here before us, 

And we need not miss the way. 
There are crumbs of joy and comfort, 

Of love and of promise sweet; 
Of help for the thorny places, 

And strength for our weary feet. 

"Thy word is a lamp/' says David — 

It giveth peace and light; 
The crumbs are the Bible verses, 

That guide our steps aright. 
May we follow their blessed teaching, 

Till, the wearisome journey o'er, 
We stand in our Father's palace, 

Whence we shall go out no more. 

March, 1872. 



7 6 THE INVALID SINGER. 

FLOWER LESSONS. 

Far above man's feeble art, 
Speaking straight from nature's heart, 
Many lessons flowers impart ; 
Let us take them to our heart. 

In this Golden Lily, see 
What gorgeous, regal majesty, 
"Mark the lilies ! " thus saith He 
Who created flowers for me. 

"How they toil not, neither spin; 
Yet e'en Solomon the King 
Such rich garments could not win 
As these lilies glory in." 

Here are Roses, sweet and red, 
By their breath the bees are fed; 
Queen of flowers, 'tis truly said ; 
Loved and fragrant e'en when dead. 

Next a wild-woods Violet 
Nestling 'mid the green leaves wet ; 
Blue and bonny little pet, 
Though transplanted, humble yet. 

So my Fuschia, full of grace, 
Droops its white and crimson face ; 



THE MESSAGE. 77 

Showing never pride of place 
In its stately garden vase. 

Purple Pansies 'neath the trees, 
With their smiling faces please. 
Cheering others, as do these, 
We may find our true heartsease. 

Immortelle comes last of all, 
Varied blossoms, large and small; 
By name and habit, thoughts they call 
To eternity, that waits for all. 

February, 187 i. 



THE MESSAGE. 

The sky was overcast with sullen clouds, 

And though at times the sun shone faintly through, 

Yet the March winds were keen, and here and 

there 
The snow still rested on the cold brown earth. 

I lay within the chamber, hushed and dark, 
While the dull pain beat through my fevered brow, 
And in the body's weakness half forgot 
The Father's sheltering arm and loving smile. 



78 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Remembering not His mercy of the past — 
The blessings that had brightened all my life — 
But thinking only of the troubles now, 
The weariness and disappointed hopes; 
And mindless of the promises so sure, 
I murmured sad — the Winter is so dark, 
And Spring comes not ! 

A hand upon the door — 
Two pattering feet stepped softly to my side — 
Two bright child-eyes gazed gladly into mine — 
And then the little hand unclasped and laid 
A blue Spring violet upon the bed, 

A " smile of God!" The quick tears filled my 
eyes, 
As, breathing in the odor faint and sweet, 
I held it close and kissed its friendly face, 
Listening to catch the message He had sent. 

O faithless heart! If this brave flower could lift 
Its fragile head above the wintry snow — 
Sure that the faithful Spring was coming soon, 
Could'st thou not trustful wait His own good time? 

March, 1874. 



BABY BROTHER. 79 

BABY BROTHER. 

Lying asleep on the sofa, 

Innocent, fresh and fair, 
And the sunbeams through the window 

Lighting his golden hair. 

The deep blue eyes, so often 
With mischief sparkling bright, 

Are wearied now, and hidden 
By drooping lids of white, 

While rest the long brown lashes 
On th' plump and dimpled cheek, 

And the rosy lips are parted 
As if about to speak. 

Stirring a bit in his slumber, 

A smile flits o'er his face; 
The sweet dream-thoughts of a baby 

No mortal can ever trace. 

" Of such is the kingdom of heav'n," 

And Jesus loves them so ! 
With a love more pure and changeless 

Than we can ever know. 

June, 187 1. 



8o THE INVALID SINGER. 

BIRDIE. 

Slender, graceful, quick and neat, 
Bright black eyes and dainty feet ! 
You have heard the wild birds sing 
O'er the meadows in the Spring ; 
You have seen a sunbeam fall, 
Golden yellow, on the wall. 
Music in a beam of light — 
That's our birdie, Bobbie Bright ! 

In his cage he sits and sings, 
In the sunshine swings and sings ; 
First a low, clear, mellow note 
Ripples from his swelling throat ; 
Faster, stronger, runs along 
To a burst of joyous song. 
Standing tip-toe in the rush — 
Quivering in the eager gush — 
Ripple, warble, trill and call, 
How the sweet notes rise and fall ! 
One clear whistle, then a pause ; 
Now he's waiting for applause. 

Birdie's like some choirs I've heard ; 
Though he sings to praise the Lord, 
Keeps a sly lookout below — 
Wants to have us listen, too. 



BIRDIE. 8 1 



Diving briskly from his seat — 
Have you seen canaries eat ? 
Bobbie cracks a seed with skill, • 

Whisks it round with tongue and bill ; 
Down on each side falls the shell. 
Don't you think he does that well ? 

Birdie likes his bathing-dish, 
Takes to water like a fish ; 
Ducks his head and flirts his tail, 
Wet, more wet, as sings the quail. 
Spatter! how the water flies ! 
Does he shut his round, black eyes ? 
Glittering diamonds set in gold 
Down his yellow back are rolled. 
Jolly fun it is, I know. 
Doesn't your bird do just so ? 

Blithsome Birdie, free from care, 
Every day to him is fair ; 
In his cage he sits and swings, 
Cloud or sunshine, swings and sings. 
God will furnish drink and seeds ; 
Everything that Birdie needs. 
When it grows too dark to sing 
He tucks his head beneath his wing. 



82 THE INVALID SINGER. 



Just a soft, round, fluffy ball 

Of faith and feathers, that is all. 

He is wiser than he seems. 

Good night, Birdie ; pleasant dreams ! 

April, 1875. 



OUR TWIN OAKS. 

On the brow of a gentle hill, near a growth of 
other trees, stood two twin oaks. Scores of 
years had passed since the two little acorns 
found a resting-place in the soft, green sod; 
and the twin trees had grown up together, side 
by side, stretching out their arms to each other, 
and inter locking them, until they stood in full 
strength and beauty, extending their sheltering 
branches protectingly over a pretty white cot- 
tage that nestled beneath. 

The birds built their nests in the branches, 
and filled the air with rippling bursts of melody 
through the pleasant Spring mornings. The 
lively red squirrel had her home there also, and 
ran up and down their gray, old trunks, gather- 
ing her winter store of acorns. 

In the summer the children played on the 



OUR TWIN OAKS. $3 



grass below them, or, sitting on the rustic seat, 
gazed dreamily up into the branches, watching 
the sunshine which flickered through the dancing 
leaves, forming fantastic shadows and shimmer- 
ing patches of light, which were continually 
changing as they looked. 

Then when the Autumn came, and their 
glossy leaves changed to russet brown, and one 
by one loosened their hold of the parent stem 
and fluttered slowly to the ground, and the bare 
branches swayed and moaned in the cold, north 
wind, the beautiful snow fell softly, draping 
them all in its pure, white mantle. Thus in sun- 
shine and shadow the years passed away, and 
in each one the twin oaks raised their heads a 
little nearer to the blue sky, and twined their 
arms a little closer together ; and they rejoiced 
in their growth, whispering to each other of 
their happiness. 

But a sad change came. One bright, winter 
morning, as they looked down at the quaint 
home which they sheltered and watched over, 
they saw little puffs of blue smoke curling up 
from the roof, soon increasing in volume, and 
rolling upward a thick, dark mass, with here 
and there bright flames darting through, like 



84 THE INVALID SINGER. 

lightning in a thunder-cloud. The poor trees 
swayed back, as if with a vain effort to escape 
from the spot, but the flames, bursting from the 
windows, surged up with the smoke among the 
boughs, lighting myriads of tiny torches of 
the trembling twigs, while the fierce, scorching 
heat burned deep into their breasts. Before 
long the pretty cottage was burned to ashes, 

and the two sheltering trees were dead 

In the early spring time, when the other trees 
blossom out in their fresh, green robes, and 
through the bright summer, when they rejoice 
in their life and beauty and the gladness of the 
sunshine, the twin oaks lift their charred and 
blackened arms toward the Heavens, as if still 
appealing for the help that never came. And 
the pitying breezes, as they gently sway the 
dead branches, sigh and moan as if lamenting 
the cruel fate of the sister trees. They were 
lovely and beautiful in their lives, and in their 
death they were not divided. 

June, 1871. 



THE LEGEND OF INNISFALLEN. 85 

THE LEGEND OF INNISFALLEN. 

The Abbot of Innisfallen 

Arose from his couch to pray, 
Or ever the first faint flush of dawn 

Stole over the twilight gray. 
While the peace of the great night-angel 

In the air was still abroad, 
And no world clamor could jar the wings 

That lifted his soul to God. 

Oh, fair on Killarney's water, 

The isle like a blossom lay, 
And fair in its bosom the abbey walls 

Rose up with their turrets gray. 
But the inner soul of the beauty 

Illumined the chapel air 
When the sunrise streamed through the oriel 
pane 

On the Abbot's morning prayer. 

But once, ere the golden dawning, 

The low words died away, 
For a strange song rose on the outward air, 

And the monk could no longer pray. 
In vain he murmured an ave 

And pressed to the shrine more near ; 



86 THE INVALID SINGER. 

His soul was drawn with a mystic spell, 
And he could not choose but hear. 

" The sweet, sweet voice is calling, 

It calleth my soul to greet ! " 
And forth in the hueless morning 

He hurried with trembling feet. 
" I must gaze on the soul that singeth, 

Though angel or friend it be. 
May Christ who was tempted himself on earth 

Have pity, and pardon me !" 

He saw in the dusky twilight, 

A beautiful, snow-white bird ; 
The air glowed softly around its wings, 

And thrilled as the music stirred. 
Slow r ly it flew before him, 

And the Abbot followed on. 
Scant choice have the feet but overtake 

When the eyes and the heart have gone. 

And now through the silent forest, 

And now by the silver lake, 
O'er moor and meadow he followed still, 

Through desolate fen and brake. 
And if it were noon or evening, 

If moments or years went by, 



THE LEGEND OF INNISFALLEJV. 87 



The monk knew not while he heard beyond 
The voice of that melody. 

But at last the abbey turrets 

Rose up to his sight again ; 
He thought of his uncompleted prayer, 

And the glamour cleared from his brain. 
But the walls are old and crumbling; ! 

And the ivy grown so high 
He can scarcely see the oriel pane 

Where he watched the morning sky ! 

And why are his limbs grown feeble ? 

His hands so thin and seamed ? 
And what are the locks like flying snow, 

Which over his shoulders streamed ? 
He entered the chapel doorway, 

But the porter's face was strange ; 
Each passing form and familiar scene 

Had suffered a wondrous change. 

And never a monk in the abbey 
Could tell his face or his name ; 

But an aged man from his quiet cell, 
With tottering footsteps came. 

<4 When I was a boy," he murmured, 
" They whispered the story o'er, 



SS THE IX VALID SINGER. 

How the father Anselm vanished away, 
And they saw his face no more." 

" It was I," said the trembling Abbot, 

While the startled monks were dumb ; 
" O, give to me absolution now, 

For I know my hour has come." 
They gave him the holy wafer, 

And reverent laid him down 
Where the light fell soft on his wrinkled brow, 

Like a gold and opal crown. 

Then his breath came faint and fainter, 

And the awe-struck watchers heard 
The low, sweet call from the casement ledge 

Of a strange and beauteous bird. 
It perched on the couch of waiting ; 

The bells of the abbey tolled, 
Then two birds rose to the azure sky, 

And the monk lay still and cold. 



Oh ! what is the ancient legend, 
But the story of life for each ? 

To follow forever a shining hope 
That beckons beyond our reach, 

But I think when we fall a-weary, 
And the long pursuit is past, 



THE LIFE BUILDING. 89 

The beautiful vision we sought so long 
Will stoop to our hand at last. 

December, 1882. 



THE LIFE BUILDING. 

How great the task a worthy life to build ! 

Each young heart hears the warning : " Plan 
with care ; 
Build wisely lest, thy purpose mis-fulfilied, 

Thou seek in vain to make a late repair ! " 
A brain untaught by years — a hand unskilled, 

The slender tools to found, unflawed and fair, 
A tower of strength the tempest shocks to 
bear ; — 

So hard the task a perfect life to build ! 
O, thou great Architect, whose least designs 

Grow to creation, plan my life for me ! 
Sign with Thy Name of power the contract lines, 

And but the humble laborer I will be, 
Whose daily toil beneath a wise command 

Works out the pattern in the Master's hand. 

March, 1881. 



90 THE INVALID SINGER. 

UNDERTONES. 

I hear earth's master-songs, sublimely sweet ; 
The morning larks, to unknown glories spring- 
ing, 
Pour out upon the twilight world below 

The vision of their eyes in raptured singing ; 
And nightingales, in moon-enchanted groves, 
Wide to the night their passioned hearts are 
flinging. 

Yet sparrow songs along the wayside path, 

Whose simple notes small outward grace can 
borrow, 

Bring also sunlit messages from heaven, 

And weary passers, burdened with the morrow, 

Glean from the joyful accents hope and cheer, 
And half forget the heavy care and sorrow. 

I know the world is full of vivid bloom — 

That purple passion-flowers with mystic story 

Mount ever towards the sky ; that roses burn 
Red with the glow of Love's swift oratory, 

And tall, white lillies stand up in the sun, 

Pale prophets in the strength of stainless glory. 

But are no violets clasped with tender hands 
Where gold and ruby cups the tulip raises ? 



UNDE R TONES. 9 1 



When all the June-kissed roses light the earth, 
Is there no room for buttercups and daises? 

May God not hearken 'mid the grander notes 
To hear the wood anemone's low praises ? 

Oh, grant another brown bird leave to sing ! 

Although no azure flight of tireless winging 
Uplift the notes, nor darkness wrap them round, 

Its deeper tones of grief-born sweetness bring- 
ing; 
Springtime and Morning may not hide their joy. 

How shall I still my eager heart from singing? 

I pray you, friendly ones, for room to grow, 
Though small the beauty there may be for 
showing, 
And if no simple child or burdened soul 

May find the floweret fair beyond my know- 
ing, 
Perchance the Lord who planteth every seed 
May smile to see the folded blossoms growing. 

May, 1879. 



THE INVALID SINGER. 



A FORETASTE. 

[A few very warm days in the middle of winter.] 

The Heavens are blue above us, 
Though the earth is brown below ; 

The sun shines bright on the rippling stream, 
And the breezes softly blow. 

They breathe on my weary forehead, 
And play with the fluttering hair, 

Whispering soft, to my longing heart, 
Of the future Spring, so fair. 

The elm-trees feel in their branches 

The touch of the sunny noon, 
And drowsily murmur, swaying soft, 

" Art thou come, sweet Spring, so soon ? " 

My crocuses, deeply hidden, 

Do you think the winter gone ? 
Do you feel through the brown earth's bosom 

The wooing kiss of the sun ? 

O, trust not his call alluring, 

But patiently wait below, 
Lest your fair young heads be covered deep 

With the cruel, wintry snow. 



TEMPERANCE HYMN. 93 

O grass, 'neath the warm sun greening, 

The Spring is not coming yet ! 
The cold wind swept thee not long ago, 

And can'st thou so soon forget ? 

O trees, wake not from your slumbers ! 

Wee buds, do not swell so fast ! 
This is but a hint of the future Spring, 

Too early and sweet to last. 

And yet, though again the morrow 

Its wintry storms may bring, 
My heart will be glad and thankful still, 

For this one sweet taste of Spring. 

And when earth's winter is over — 
Though it long may be and late — 

The glad new springtime will surely come ; 
Be patient, my heart, and wait. 



TEMPERANCE MARSEILLES HYMN. 

[Written, at the request of Capt. Kilbourne, for the 
Painesville Temperance Singers, and sung by the people 
of Ohio during the Crusade in 1874.] 

Ye friends of Temperance, rouse to duty! 
Heed now the call that bids you rise: 



94 THE INVALID SINGER. 

The wives and mothers earnest pleading — 

Behold their tears, and hear their cries! 

Behold their tears, and hear their cries! 
Shall selfish men, vile mischief breeding — 

A heartless liquor-dealing band — 

Afflict and desolate the land, 
While pure and loving hearts are bleeding? 

Cho. — Arise, ye friends of truth ! 

Gird on your armor bright ! 
Work on, work on, all hearts resolved 

To conquer in His might! 
Pray on, pray on, and God will give 

The victory to the Right. 

March on ! the battle is Jehovah's ! 
Our Leader calls us on today; 

His arm is strong, our cause will triumph ; 
Then let us work and strive and pray 
Till this dark curse be swept away. 

Our enemies will yield before us, 
Their work of sin and ruin cease, 
And homes be blessed with love and peace, 

For God and Right shall be victorious! 

Cho. — Arise, then, friends of truth! 
Gird on your armor bright! 



STAR-SPANGLED BANNER, 95 

Work on, work on, all hearts resolved 

To conquer in His might; 
Pray on, pray on, and God will give 

The victory to the Right. 



OUR STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 

O friends, have you seen what a terrible foe 

Is draining, corrupting the life of the nation? 
How the bravest and best by its power are laid 
low, 
And peaceful homes blighted with dark deso- 
lation. 

And how many strong cries 
Have gone up to the skies, 
That loved ones from danger and sin may 
arise? 

Cho. — And God in His mercy from ruin will save 
"The land of the free and the home of 
the brave." 

O patriots, arise ! your loved country to save, 
Do not stand idly by like an alien or stranger; 

For the tyrant Intemperance the land will enslave, 
And his chains are on thousands who know 
not their danger. 



96 THE INVALID SINGER. 

O, be true, brave and strong ; 
Though the contest be long, 
Our land must be cleansed from this 
poisonous wrong. 

And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph 

shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 

brave. 

O, thus be it ever, that freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and this sad degra- 
dation. 
Blest with virtue and peace may our heaven- 
favored land 
Praise the Power that hath made us a temper- 
ance nation. 

Then conquer we must, 
For our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto — "In God is our 
trust" 

And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph 

shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the 

brave. 



WHERE VIOLETS GROW. 97 

WHERE VIOLETS GROW. 

Some careless word had touched her heart — 
And childhood griefs are hard to bear — 
An April shower had cleared the air, 

And, like the gleam when shadows part, 
I heard a whisper soft and low 
Break through her tears: ''But then — I know 
Where violets grow !" 

O, happy secret all her own ! 

Whose hidden wealth of bud and bloom, 
Through every grief or passing gloom, 

Its sweetness kept for her alone. 
And never sorrow overflows, 
Or burdens vanquish one who knows 
Where heartsease grows. 

There is a book whose silent tone 

Hath wondrous power to make me glad, 
And life is never wholly sad ; 

I have a secret all my own, 

One place — it is not far to go — 
"The shadow of a Rock; " — I know 
Where violets grow ! 

Jiuie, 1880. 



98 THE INVALID SINGER. 

CHILDREN'S SNOW-FANCIES. 

"Bessie," said little Willie, 
" When yesterday it snowed, 

I was looking out for papa, 
And ran far down the road. 

" I thought I saw him coming, 
But 'twas only Mr. Gray, 

Who said, < I guess Old Woman 
Is picking geese today.' 

" So snow must be geese-feathers, 
Though I'm sure I do not know 

Why, if it is but feathers, 
They always call it snow ? " 

" No, that's not it," said Bessie ; 

" I watched it for an hour, 
And what I think it looks like 

Is fairies sifting flour. 

" The funny little fairies, 
We read about in books, 

I'm almost sure they're sifting, 
So much like flour it looks." 

"But better still," said Mary, 
" Than flour and all such things, 



CHILDREN'S SNOW-FANCIES. 99 



I think it is, to call it 

The down from angels' wings. " 

" Your thoughts are very pretty, 
I scarcely think they're true," 

Said Mary's brother Bertie ; 
" I'll tell you something new : 

" Those soft, white clouds of summer 
We've often seen, you know, 

In little bits have broken, 

And falling down, make snow." 

"One day I asked my father," 

Said gentle Lily Strong; 
" He said it was a blanket 

To keep the wheat-plants warm. 

"But still I think in Heaven 
They must have snow like this ; 

It is the angels' emblem 
Of purity and peace. 

" They send it down to show us 

That, in our life below, 
We should have thoughts and actions 

Pure as the falling snow." 

November, 1876. 



ioo THE INVALID SINGER. 

BEHEADED RHYMES. 

[One of a series of poems similarly constructed by the 
young people in the Chicago Advance. The word for the 
first line of each triplet must fit the second and third lines 
by dropping the first letter each time. The word for the 
second line of the last verse is an old English word, some- 
what obsolete.] 

A PASTORAL. 

The broad fields of , 

In the midsummer's , 



Are golden with promise of plenty to 

The breezes soft , 

Brings the cattle's faint 



Its musical sound to the far distance 

By the brook in the , 

Stand Jane and her , 



With the sunshine around and the willow- 
boughs , 

John lingers to , 



Idly twirling his , 

Though there's plenty of work that he ought to 
be . ' 



Her fancy 

The maiden stands 



A pool in the brook as a clear mirror 



BEHEADED RHYMES. ioi 



But bright, merry 
From under her — 



With love's fire are turning poor John's heart 
to . 



Gazing too, in the 



" There's a fine-looking ," 

Stammers he, feeling much like an overgrown 



Trying poetry to 

While says she with a , 

" Indeed ! can it be that you've just found it 

? : > 



" But joking 



I'll say for my 



I never was fond of the flatterer's 

" Then let me ," 

With a soberer . 



•' For I love a sweet maiden, and you are the 



" With red lips so 

My feelings you're . 

O, do not against me your kind heart be ! " 



102 THE INVALID SINGER. 



Jenny, blushing, is 
And John listens — 



She murmurs, *• You know, John, I wish you no 



Then his shyness has , 

" Though rough I'm no , 

Will you marry me, darling, and so be my 

While their hearts gladly , 

Jenny smiling says, " , 



If I give you an inch you of course take an 
{" 

ANSWERS TO BEHEADED RHYMES. 

Wheat. Blowing. Clover. Chat. Amus- 
ing. Flashes. Glass. Spout. Apart. Atone. 
Charming. Still. Flown. Swell. 

March, 1875. 



TAKE HOLD OF MY HAND. 

"Take hold of my hand," says the little child, 
When the way is dark, and the snow is piled 
Thick on the path, and the wind is wild ; 
" Papa, take hold of my hand." 



TAKE HOLD OF MY HAND. 103 

With her fingers clasping his hand so strong, 
She bravely and cheerfully steps along, 
Having no fear of going wrong, 
For papa has hold of her hand. 

"Take hold of my hand," says the convert young, 
Filled with the love of the Holy One, 
Looking for strength to the Saviour alone ; 

" Jesus, take hold of my hand." 
He will give grace to meet every foe, 
Through rivers of sorrow unhurt we may go, 
A blessing is promised in weal or in woe, 

If Jesus has hold of our hand. 

"Take hold of my hand," says the aged one ; 
Through the shadow of years she is tottering on, 
And her race of life she has nearly run ; 

"Saviour, take hold of my hand." 
Dim has the earth to her eyes become ; 
She eagerly looks toward her heavenly home, 
And longingly cries, as the child has done, 

" Father, take hold of my hand." 

Take hold of my hand, O Saviour dear, 
Temptation or trial will then cause no fear ; 
In joy or in sorrow be Thou ever near, 
And never let go of my hand. 



104 THE INVALID SINGER. 

For joy is brighter and trouble is less, 
And toil is a pleasure and life a success, 
If Thou dost still guide us, still comfort and 
bless; 
Saviour, hold fast to my hand. 
February, 187 1. 



HOW IT COMES. 

I hear a robin singing, 

Clear, through the falling rain, 

Our God is working in the earth, 
And Spring is come again. 

Do birds and budding maples, 

And patient grass and grain, 
Know that the Spring comes on through 
clouds, 

Fierce winds and falling rain ? 

And shall not God's dear children 
Well know, that life's best gain 

Must be wrought out thro' weary days 
Of patient grief and pain ? 

Sing on, O happy robin ! 

Our hearts take up the strain, 



THE NEW YEAR'S GIFTS. 105 

For God is working in the earth, 
And Spring has come again. 

March, 1885. 



THE NEW YEAR'S GIFTS. 

The bright New Year dawns fair and clear, 
Undimmed by past or future fear ; 
We cannot know if joy or woe 
It holdeth for us as we go. 

Hid from our eyes its darker skies, 
And all the bright a glad surprise — 
But on its wings to all it brings 
These beautiful and wondrous things: 

Some day will go the frost and snow, 
And southern breezes lightly blow ; 
To brown old earth comes a new birth, 
All warmth and greenness, life and mirth ; 

Sunlight and showers, and fair Spring flowers, 
And bird-songs fill the golden hours 
From night till noon — and all too soon 
Sweet May slips softly into June. 



io6 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Then lilies show their silver snow, 
And crimson roses gleam and glow, 
While one by one the fair fruits turn 
Flushed cheeks to kisses of the sun. 

On hill and plain the ripening grain 
Waves in the summer breeze or rain • 
And all the day the mowers' play 
Sweetens the air with new-mown hay. 

But ah ! the days of bloom and blaze, 
When smiles the sun through smoky haze, 
When frosts come down and grass is brown, 
And royal Autumn takes her crown. 

Lighting the land on every hand, 
All red and gold the maples stand ; 
Till rough winds call, and one and all 
The bright leaves float away and fall. 

Then — ice and snow, and firelight glow, 
Starlight, moonlight, whispers low, 
Sleigh-bells clear, and Christmas cheer, 
And then — another bright New Year ! 
January, 1876. 



GOLDEN-WEDDING GREETING. 1 07 

GOLDEN-WEDDING GREETING 

Your home is filled tonight, dear friends — 

The new home, fair and bright — 
With friendly faces, joyful tones, 

And loving hearts and light. 
And as your outstretched hands are clasped 

In greeting warm and true, 
Each heart speaks from the earnest eyes, 

And says: " God bless you," too. 
For all our hearts are full tonight — 

Are glad and full for you. 

Together you have walked life's path, 

And shared its smiles and tears, 
Its cares and sorrows, hopes and joys, 

For fifty changing years ; 
And, as before your gaze tonight 

The past way lies unrolled, 
The westering sun breaks o'er the scene, 

And lights it all with gold. 

So, standing on the vantage height 

Marked by this golden day, 
The blessings of the past shine out; 

Its shadows fade away. 



io8 THE INVALID SINGER. 



Less of life's thorns and briers seem yours, 
More of its fruits and flowers ; 

And, like the dial, you tonight 
Mark but the sunny hours. 

We know not what of joy or grief 

Your future days may fill, 
But " Hitherto the Lord hath heiped, ,, 

And He will keep you still. 
The path leads upward all the way, 

And guidance will be given, 
Until you step from the home on earth 

To our Father's home in Heaven. 
November •, 1877. 



LIFTED UP. 

MYRTA E. PALMER, AUGUST 2 1, 1 88 1, AGED II, 

The Shepherd guideth His whole dear flock, 

As they journey to pastures fair, 
And calls to the straying and cheers the faint, 

With an ever watchful care. 
But the lamb whose faltering feet, perchance, 

The wayside thorns have pressed, 
He draws to His side with a tender word, 

And lifts it up to His breast. 



LIFTED UP. 109 



And a loving Father who leads His child, 

And looking beyond doth see 
The path lead into a rocky waste 

Where danger and pain may be, 
Will lift him up e'er the little feet 

Can stumble or wander wide, 
And carry him over in His strong arms, 

To the joy on the further side. 

And your own darling's beautiful face, 

For whose vanished light you grieve, 
Aheady the patient sweetness wore 

That only sufferings leave. 
And for her dear sake you will smile at length 

That the stronger friend she knew 
Has lifted her up from the paths of earth, 

And keepeth her safe for you. 

And since most near to the Shepherd's side, 

And freest from vague alarms, 
That sheep walks ever whose little lamb 

Is held in its kindly arms, 
So she who is lifted and you who are led 

Need now be little apart, 
If you hold but close to His loving hand, 

Who carries your child on His heart. 



HO THE INVALID SINGER. 

JESUS OUR STRENGTH. 

I am thine, my blessed Lord, 
Thou hast died for me. 

All I have and all I am 
Now belong to Thee. 

Give me of Thy heavenly store 

Grace to love and serve Thee more. 

Let Thy blood, a cleansing flood, 
Make me pure and free. 

In Thy love and fulness wide, 
All my imperfections hide ; 
Ever in my heart abide, 
All in all to me. 

Oft methinks I hear Thy voice — 

" I have died for thee; 
What hast thou today, my child, 

Wrought in love for me ? " 
Only little duties done, 
Trials borne and victories won ; 
Small to show, yet this I know, 

They were done for Thee. 

Guided ever by Thy love, 
All my way is bright ! 



THE SOWS SUPREMACY. in 



Burdens Thou dost give me, Lord, 
Borne for Thee, are light. 

While I closely cling to Thee, 

What can harm or hinder me ? 

Every day a little way 

Nearer Heaven and Thee ! 

So I'll gladly journey on 

Toward my heavenly home, 
Walking in Thy strength alone 

Till the end shall come. 
Then, when Thy dear face I see, 
This shall be my only plea — 
" I have tried, but Thou hast died ! 
Died, dear Lord, for me." 
January, 1874. 



THE SOUL'S SUPREMACY. 
So now, thou dost withdraw thy fealty, 
My Body, trained to do thy master's will, 
And all the implements which I have used 
Refuse my bidding ? Aye ; but think not thou 
To hold me fettered with thee to the couch ! 



H2 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Thou hast the earth-stain on thee, and the brand 
Of servitude ; should I, who am free-born — 
Whose right it is to rule — submit to thee, 
And narrow all my life in four dim walls ? 

Thou hast the power to seize the pleasant gate 

Of outward sight, through which I journey forth 

By open casement, or the printed page. 

But I have vision of my own, and fields 

Of breadth and beauty where I need thee not. 

Pains? Yes, I feel the pains; they do but serve 
To mind me of thy presence and thy needs. 
Thou hast been true of old, and I have grown 
Familiar w r ith thy service — none the less, 
Thou canst not have the mastery ! One link 
Alone remains by which I use thee now. 
The channel of the brain where thought is born; 
Reach not for that or I will cast thee off 
Forevermore! No memory abides 
Of days before I met thee; but a life 
More true and full, more widely free and bright 
Than any thy companionship hath brought, 
Will follow on the parting. Thou art warned ! 
I have no fixed, eternal need of thee ! 
February, 1881. 



A JUNE BLOSSOM. 113 



A JUNE BLOSSOM.* 

In the midst of the fresh, sweet June, 
When the earth was wrapped about, 
Through the shining day and the starry night, 
With growth and gladness and life and light, 
With blooming roses and sunshine bright, 
The light of her life went out. 

Peaceful and still she lay, 

Earth and its suffering past ; 
With the fair, white brow and the lips caressed 
By the touch of the angel that bringeth rest, 
The blue eyes hidden — but God knows best, 

Safely at home at last. 

"As a little child," she went, 

No shadow of grief or fear, 
But peacefully, trustfully passed away, 
As the sweet, pink apple-blooms fall in May, 
(Fragile and fragrant and fair as they) 

Awaiting the fruitage near. 

We laid her away to rest ; 
And over the sunny head 
Roses bloom through the summer's prime, 

* Sister Louise, who left us June 18, 1S72. 



114 THE INVALID SINGER. 

And soft and low in the fresh springtime 
Sweet hyacinth bells, with their silvery chime, 
Ring for the fair young dead. 

An echo tender and sweet 

Of the song the angels sing. 
Our ears are holden, or we might hear 
The anthem, welcoming glad and clear 
To the palace-home and her Father dear, 

The daughter of the King. 

A crown rests light on her brow, 

The beautiful face is bright 
With the perfect joy that the ransomed know, 
And robes she wears like the shining snow 
Falling so tenderly, soft and slow, 

Over her grave tonight. 



BEYOND. 

JUVENTAS. 

I ran along the morning shore, 

Where waves were singing evermore ; 

The sea-birds in the sunny sky, 

Like eager thoughts, sprang white and high; 

My life was like the rising tide — 

Unfathomed, free and wide. 



BEYOND. 115 



I wondered at the shining sails — ■ 
They breathed the swift joy of the gales, 
And speeding outward, far and dim, 
They slipped beyond the world's bright rim; 
What unknown Hope with fairer sign, 
Lay on that mystic, azure line ? 

Gold sands and glittering bay, 

A present glory lay ; 

O foolish, flying ships ! I said, 

Why should they sail away ? 

SENECTUS. 

I journeyed by the Western sea ; 
Gray, cold and vast it seemed to me. 
Scarred cliffs rose up to guard the land ; 
My feet toiled in the yielding sand, 
All hue from earth and sky had fled, 
For youth and joy were dead. 

What wonder blossomed on my sight ! 
The rifted clouds were gates of light, 
And level glories broad and sweet 
Spanned the dark waters to my feet ! 
One far ship, like a white-winged soul, 
Sailed in that pathway to the goal. 



Ii6 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Oh, gates of glad surprise, 
For sunset-turning eyes ; 
Oh, happy ship that sped away 
And vanished in the skies ! 
March, 1879. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

FOR MY LITTLE SABBATH-SCHOOL GIRLS. 

The bells ring out for Christmas, 
With chiming glad and clear, 

And happy greetings, gifts and smiles 
Are passing far and near. 

And it is all for mem'ry 

Of one night long ago, 
When God's first Christmas gift to earth 

Lay in a manger low. 

And the best of all the gladness — 
The Christmas joy and cheer — 

Is still that Christ of Bethlehem 
Is living now and here. 



ON A SILVER CLOCK. 117 

He comes to us with blessings 

Which cannot fade or dim, 
And we will give our heart's best love 

A birthday gift to Him. 

December 25, 1877. 



ON A SILVER CLOCK, 

MY LITTLE FRIEND. 

He has two little, shining feet, 
And runs the livelong day 

As ceaselessly and tirelessly 
As if it all were play. 

His cricket song above the hearth 
Cheers on my every task ; 

And information he will give 
Whenever I may ask. 

That he is "lettered" one can tell 

By glancing at his face, 
And all his works are widely known 

For nicety and grace. 

And yet he shows no pride because 
Of his most favored case, 



n8 THE INVALID SINGER. 

But ever holds his slender hands 
Before his modest face. 

If you would regulate your life 
To this same cheerful key, 

Your hands move only to good works, 
Your time pass usefully. 
March, 1878. 



THE SOLDIERS' GRAVES. 

We sound a dirge for the heroes brave, 
And twine our flowers for the soldiers' grave 
An outward symbol of gifts more dear, 
:||A grateful thought and a tender tear. ||: 

Each humble mound hath a living voice, 
And under the sorrow our hearts rejoice; 
They died that our eyes to-day might see 
:||A land at rest and a people free. || 



All fragrant and fair are the flowers we set 

On the green of the soldiers' grave ; 
Garlands where grief and sad regret, 
Gratitude, honor and praise have met, 
Proofs of a love which cannot forget — 
Slumber in peace, ye brave ! 



SABBATH EVENING. 1 19 



Above in the sunshine, can ye see 
The folds of the old flag wave ? 

Under its sway, from shore to sea, 

Lieth the nation, united, free. 

Your's and our God's shall the glory be; 
Slumber in peace, ye brave ! 

May, 1880. 



SABBATH EVENING. 

The fair, sun-woven vail of light 
That screens from earth the infinite 
Withdraws beyond the glowing west; 
Its fingers light the hills 1 low crest, 
And pure and calm, serenely high, 
The still moon climbs the eastern sky. 

Earth folds her hands upon her breast, 
With heavenward face of peaceful rest. 
A far bell lifts her wordless prayer 
Through the rapt silence of the air ; 
And o'er her bends in wide reply, 
The unknown depth of starry sky. 

Amid these leafy paths of green, 
There breathes a Presence all unseen, 



120 THE INVALID SINGER. 

Like that which walked the garden-ways 
At evening time in Eden days ; 
And in the twilight, hushed and dim, 
My heart in gladness speaks with Him. 

October, 1879. 



THE GRACE OF RECEIVING. 

To give is highest ; every wakening soul 

Feels inward stirrings of its royalty, 

And thinks to stand at length with largess 
free, 
Dispensing to the world its liberal dole ; 
And love's most earnest need and utmost goal 

Is but to spend itself eternally. 

Yea, God, supremest Love, of need must be 
"The giving God" — true fountain of the whole. 
But souls which fain would give as angels do 

Love so can conquer with its mighty touch 
That empty hands to the beloved and true 

They reach to take, and give the best to 
such. 
Dear friends of mine, thus can I bring to you 

The Lord's " more blessed" and his " inas- 
much." 

1883. 



HIS DWELLING-PLACE. 121 

HIS DWELLING-PLACE. 

O Christ, my Master and my King ! 

How can such wonder be — ■ 
That Thou the Lord of all the earth 

Should'st make Thy home with me? 

That not alone in moments rare, 

When faith is strong and free, 
And love has but to reach her hand 

To feel it clasped by Thee ; 
But day by day, through vexing cares, 

Through weak distrust and sin, 
Thou dost not leave the humbled heart 

Where Thou hast entered in. 

If such Thy word, O Friend divine, 
. And Thou dost love so well, 
How must I haste to furnish forth 

The house where Thou dost dwell! 
How must I strive to banish self, 

And worldly sovereignty, 
That Thy strong love may widen out 

The narrow walls for Thee ! 

And daily must I guard the door 
From envy, fret and strife, 



122 THE INVALID SINGER, 

That so a quiet house may hold 
The Prince of Peace and Life. 

And if no shades of night obscure 
The skyward windows free, 

The steadfast light of Heaven shall keep 
A sunny home for Thee. 

O poor and low the vassal's hut, 

Yet if Thou reignest there, 
Bring in the riches of Thy grace 

And make Thy dwelling fair ! 

May, 1884. 



GOING TO ROME. 

"That I may have a prosperous journey [or have my 
way smoothed} to come unto you." Paul's letter to the 
Romans. " Not knowing the things that shall befall me." 

A brother heart at Corinth, 

Warm through the mist of years, 
Still pulses through the written words 

With human hopes and fears. 
He asks a smoothe'd pathway, 

That he may shortly come 
Where hopes and prayers and longing heart 

Had gone before : to Rome. 



GOING TO ROME. 123 

He journeys to Jerusalem, 

God's hand to veil his eyes ; 
He cannot see the temple mob, 

The blows and maddened cries, 
The judgment halls where he must stand 

To answer for his life, 
Nor yet the weary prison years, 

With his hot zeal at strife. 

Long days of ocean tossing, 

Keen peril, toil and pain, 
While sounded ever in his ears 

The clanking of his chain. 
That anguished night of tempest, 

And shipwreck with the day ; 
Were these the prosperous journey? 

Was this the smoothed way ? 

Yet in Antonia's castle 

An unknown joy should swell, 
When in the night the Lord stood by 

And lit the prison cell. 
And for the hour of shipwreck 

That angel word should come ; 
" Fear not, lo ! God hath given thee all 

Who sail with thee to Rome." 



124 THE INVALID SINGER. 

He could not see from Corinth 

The waiting throng which stands 
In dark Melita's isle, to meet 

His healing words and hands. 
Nor yet the eager Christians, 

Far on the Appian road, 
Whose loving words new courage bring, 

And grateful thanks to God. 

And "Paul the aged" in his chains 

Should spread the truth in Rome, 
With God's own gladness for his strength, 

God's sheltering love for home. 
O human-hearted hero! 

We see thee through the years, 
With hearts of rising courage, 

And eyes of loving tears. 

We also follow after 

The Master of us all ; 
We, too, go on, " not knowing 

The things which shall befall." 
We ask a "prosperous journey ; " 

There come the tempest shocks. 
We pray for smoothed pathways, 

But find the thorns and rocks. 



GOING TO ROME. 125 

Yet we, too, our brother, 

Have found the Lord stand by ; 
We hear His "Fear not !" in the dark, 

And know the Christ is nigh. 
And for our dimmer vision, 

Shall Heaven's light make plain 
How paths of wider service 

Led through the gates of pain. 

April, 1885. 




^^^^ 



m 



